Up & Out Read Online Free Page B

preteen grabs a pair of the fours. Another reason teen girls rule the world—slim hips.
    I bypass the skirts. I can’t deal with tights and my legs are stubbly (hey, I’m not dating anyone). I find more pants. These look like they would be even tighter. They don’t have any pockets in back, my butt is going to be huge. I take my size and the sizes one and two up from mine. I don’t want to think about how high into the double digits I am getting. I have no time to go to the gym, and besides, I hate going to the gym.
    Now there is a line for the dressing room. I look at my watch. I’m never going to make it. I split the difference and grab the pants that were a size above mine. If they don’t fit I might as well just call it quits, anyway. I also grab a sweater, just because it’s cheap and I continuously laugh in the face of my increasing debt. The more I make, the more I spend. I still have college loans.
    I take a cab down to the Seaport to save time. With traffic, it costs me an outrageous sixteen bucks—one whole plate of tempura. I’ll expense it. There is a pizza shop nearby. I smile at the guy behind the counter and ask if I can use the bathroom.
    “It’s supposed to be for customers only.” I can tell he is going to let me, anyway, but I am quite hungry and it smells good in here. I haven’t eaten all day except for a couple of handfuls of popcorn.
    “Okay, maybe I’ll grab a couple of garlic knots.”
    I go to the bathroom while he heats them up. It’s not the best place to change, but I have no choice. The mirror is tiny, so I don’t get the full impact of my butt.
    The guy behind the counter whistles when I come out of the bathroom. I smile, because he doesn’t seem too lecherous. I pay for the knots and eat them quickly at the counter.
    “Well?” pizza man says.
    “Delicious,” I say, licking my fingers. I notice the way he is watching me and I grab a napkin.
    “You like that, you should try our pizza.” It smells good, but hors d’oeuvres will be passed at the party. Nobody skimps on the affiliates.
    “Some other time,” I say.
    “Have fun,” he calls after me. “Don’t party too hard.”
     
    When I get to the Seaport space, I check my bag of clothes immediately. The room is big and swanky. Someone has gone a bit crazy draping white fabric and rose petals over every solid surface. There are waiters with tall flutes of champagne on trays. I grab one and take a quick peek at my watch. Only twenty-two minutes late. Not too bad. I spot Hackett across the room. He waves me over. I down the champagne and get a vodka gimlet from the bar before making my way through the crowd. I need to take the edge off. On the way I eat two small potatoes with cream cheese and caviar and baby beef Wellington. God, I love food.
    “There she is. Here’s Becky,” Hackett says. He puts his arm around me. (Did I mention I hate to be called Becky? Hackett’s the only one who does it.) “She’s the girl behind Esme.”
    I wish he’d said “woman,” but who am I to split hairs? I stand in the same place for the rest of the night and meet people and eat whatever appetizer comes my way. There is great food, but I can’t even enjoy it because I’m too busy being nice to everyone. Every time I’m introduced to someone new, I only really hear the wait staff introduce the appetizers.
    “Rebecca, this is Mike Jasse from Boston.”
    “Salmon and cream cheese on black bread.”
    “Let me introduce you to Louisa Siciliano from Baltimore.”
    “Olive tapenade on toast.”
    “You have to meet Cindy Betti from the Des Moines office.”
    “Some coconut shrimp.”
    I have the same conversation with everyone and because I am standing with Hackett, people come and bring us drinks. Iwant to go over and talk to Janice, John or Jen, but every time I finish talking to one person there is someone else to meet. Everyone says complimentary things to me about Esme. I smile and blush a lot.
    Do you ever have the feeling